Living in the modern age, death for virtue is the wage. So it seems in darker hours. Evil wins, kindness cowers. Ruled by violence and vice we all stand upon thin ice. Are we brave or are we mice, here upon such thin, thin ice? Dare we linger, dare we skate? Dare we laugh or celebrate, knowing we may strain the ice? Preserve the ice at any price?

I think the world is an interesting place and I don't think anybody has the firm and final answer to what it is but I kind of assume there's a purpose.

I've got a long list of books I wish I'd never written-and I've kept them all out of print for the past 20 years.

Few human beings give of themselves to another as a dog gives of itself.

Human cruelty and treachery surpassed all understanding. There were no answers. Only excuses.

Each book is a mind alive, a life revealed, a world awaiting exploration, but living people are all those things, as well—and more, because their stories haven’t yet been completely told.

Nothing gives us courage more readily than the desire to avoid looking like a damn fool.